


Before the Fire Burned Us

by EnchantressMegriana



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst and Humor, Beginnings, Dragon Age Lore, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-27
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-27 00:48:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7596814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnchantressMegriana/pseuds/EnchantressMegriana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Araminta Trevelyan always expected that her life was to be wholly unremarkable, locked away in first the Fereldan Circle, and then the Ostwick Tower, under the watchful and ever present gaze of Templars while she lost herself in books and magical studies-- but life and fate had other plans for her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Before the Fire Burned Us

**Author's Note:**

> I have not posted any of my fan writings in a long time, like since high school, back when I was all up in Harry Potter and writing Drarry an Snape/OFC fics...So I hope you enjoy what I'm creating here, it's all in good fun anyways. I'm spanning all three games with my Trevelyan Mage, Araminta. This is her journey and there will be many npcs and characters from the games as I progress.
> 
> As this is the prologue, I'll edit the summary as I go...I suck at summaries, my apologies.

FATED

The sun rode high, the heat unbearably dry. A bead of sweat dripped down Araminta Trevelyan’s forehead, crackling along her skin. She watched in fascination as currents of light danced in front of her, swirling with each new intake and outtake of breath, the hiss of electricity innately part of her. 

Down the long sprawling path, she could just make out the glint of the men in shining silver as they drew ever closer. Araminta in all her four year old curiosity and anxiety huddled closer to Mother Agatha, the few Lay Sisters and Brothers that stood with them watched with bated breath, standing back, wary of the small child, her father, Bann Trevelyan could be heard behind the great doors of the main hall, yelling at her mother to compose herself. Minta wasn’t sure what that meant, but she wished her maman would come out to watch the shiny men with her.

She turned to rush to the door, but Mother Agatha held firmly to her shoulder, making a hard tsking sound of disapproval deep in her throat, Minta winched. From the stables, a tousled black sheen of raven blues appeared, and her sister elder Rosamin and their eldest brother Nicodemus poked their heads around. Nicodemus sauntered over, a small smile playing at his lips, his thirteen year old demeanor serious and quiet. Rosamin stayed where she was, her face twisted into something sour.

“Y’know what today is, little bird?” Nico asked, dipping down in front of her, trying to match her height. Minta started to giggled, he always looked so funny when he bent himself up all tiny, but his steely blue eyes were sad, which stopped her.

Gently, she reached out a tiny hand and cupped his chin, “Don’ be sad, Nico, Mother Aga says the Templars are comin’.”

He smiled, grabbing her up and standing in a swift hug, “They’ve come to take you away, Birdie, you’re going to a place where you’ll be safe.”

“An’ I’ll come back home after?” she asked him, her stormy gray eyes full of confusion.

“No, Birdie, not for a very long time, but you’re going to learn all kinds of things.”

Minta furrowed her brow, considering her brother, “But I need to come home, Maman always tells me stories, and you still gots to teach me how to ride Thadd!” said horse whinnied loudly at his name, his stall door knocking as he tested his restraints, “You’re a comin’ with me, right Nico?”

Nico crushed her to him, planting a kiss firmly to her forehead, before depositing her back to the ground, “You be a good girl, Araminta, listen to the Templars, and please, don’t play with the storms—” he turned his back to her and started to walk back to stables, abruptly he whirled to face her again, “—Andraste bless you, Birdie.”

Araminta, with her doll-like features and glossy black curls, tried to toddle after her brother, her tiny legs no match for the Lay Chantry and Mother Agatha, who stood firmly as a robbed wall between her and her much loved sibling.  
“Nico! Rosie!” she hollered, grasping at the air between them. From within the confines of her family home, she heard her mother wailing, and her father yelling. “Maman! Maman!” she shrieked, trying to push past the human wall. 

“Be still, child, the Maker does as he must and so must you.” said Mother Agatha sternly, as pushed Araminta away.  
Behind her, Minta heard trotted hoof steps come to a stop, loud plops, and the jingle of metal on the ground told her that she was not alone. She sniffled and turned, her gaze locked firmly on the red dirt of the earthen path; and tears fell from her eyes, creating tiny, dark dents in the ground at her feet.

“This is the girl?” a man asked, his voice tired and warm, the sun glared off the silver of his armored feet.

“Yes, the youngest daughter of House Trevelyan, pity, magic has never been an issue in the family before.” Mother Agatha answered, her voice hard.

“Bann Trevelyan married a Rivaini; it had to happen eventually.” 

This was a new voice; Minta raised her head, peeking at him from under the cover of her curls. He was young, a few years older than her brother, with dark hair, sneering lips, and snapping eyes.

“Enough, Ser Drass,” Minta lifted her head and met the older Templar’s eyes, they were tired, like his voice, he offered her a kind smile, “My name is Greagoir, I am Knight-Commander of the Fereldan circle of Magi, do you know what that is?”

Minta shook her head at him, she tried to take a step back, but Mother Agatha pushed her forward, “Nico says you’re goin’ to take me away.”

“Yes, to protect you from your magic, and from others.”

“Will the storms go away?” she asked him, her gray eyes turning hopeful, “If they go away, can I come home?”

Greagoir held out an armored hand to her, “You’ll have to learn for yourself,” he smiled, his tired eyes crinkling warmly as she tentatively wrapped her hand around his fingers, “what is your name?”

Minta bit her lip, worrying it shyly, “Araminta, but ev’rbody calls me Minta, ‘cepting Nico.”

“Come along, then, Araminta, we’ve a long journey ahead of us.”


End file.
